A Different Kind of Different
by embrace-the-deception
Summary: A series of semi-related short stories about a teenage Dean on his autistic brother Sammy. Teen-chester, Dean 15 Sam 11 Rated T for occasional swearing to be safe COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**This is half based on my own experiences of living with and looking after my autistic brother, and half from the Supernatural world. With a little sprinkling of imagination.**

**I'm kinda a Dean sort of big sister. I look after my little bro and protect him from anyone who wants to hurt him. I think the same way Dean does in this - anyone hurts my little bro, and you're screwed.**

**Hope you like it. If you have any questions about autism, then go ahead and ask :) And I'd love to hear how people with autistic siblings cope with it.**

Living in our family, things are always different. No one's really normal. Dad and I hunt supernatural monsters that aren't supposed to exist. We're never in the one place for very long. I don't have any friends, and I learnt to shoot a gun before I learnt how to ride a bike. Dad was like that after Mary died, after our mother died.

Sam was a different kind of different. Ever since he was little, I knew there was something not right about him. I didn't know what, but there was something that just didn't quite fit. When Sam stopped talking as a toddler, Dad and I didn't know what to do. It was a few months before Dad decided to take him to the doctors. There was something obviously wrong with him. He'd been a happy, albeit slightly odd baby, and then he suddenly stopped talking and became withdrawn.

It took a while for the diagnosis to come back. Dad and I were left hanging until they finished testing Sammy to find out what was wrong. Then, when we finally found out the truth, it all started to make sense.

Sammy was autistic.

Neither of us really knew what autism was. We had to research, talk to people who knew. When we finally got a grip on what was wrong with Sam, Dad refused to believe it. He refused to believe that Sam was different. He tried to train Sam the same way he trained me. Needless to say, it didn't work. As Sam got older, he and Dad got in so many arguments. Too many.

I was the only one who really understood Sammy. Dad never did. I was the one who stood by him, who helped him when he needed it. If he didn't know how or couldn't say something, I always knew exactly what it was he wanted to say. I'd say it for him. If someone didn't understand him, I'd explain what he'd said, and then what was wrong with him – why he was different.

I looked after him as he grew up. I was the one who was there when he needed it, when he'd argued with Dad, when he was scared or upset. I was always there for him. That was my job – I was his big brother, I was there to protect him.

School was hell for Sammy. The kids at every single school would tease him, taunt him all the time. They'd call him 'retard', 'stupid', 'spastic' and other names. Sammy didn't understand properly. He'd didn't realise they were making fun of him, that they were laughing at him. He needed someone to look out for him, and the school didn't do that. I had to be there to protect him.

At every school, I'd find Sam at break time and talk to him. I'd scare off the kids that would come up and taunt him. I'd tell him that he had to stand up for himself, tell them he didn't like what they were doing. But Sammy didn't understand. So I just ruffled his hair and smiled, and told him he was a great kid. And he'd smile.

When he got older, we were at different schools. I would race straight to his school after mine had finished, hoping he was okay. Once I found him beaten up and hiding in the toilets. I got him to point out who had done it. Those kids didn't walk for a week, and whenever they saw me after school they'd run to the other side of the street, absolutely terrified. I didn't care. I had to protect Sammy.

Someone had the nerve to insult Sam in front of me. They called him a retarded spaz and pushed him as I walked beside him. The kid didn't know what had hit him when I turned around and spat out every curse that came to mind. That was before I pushed him to the ground and kicked him. Dad didn't stop yelling at me for hours when he found out, but I blocked it all out. I did what I had to in order to protect my little brother.

Now he's eleven, and he's growing up. I can't protect him all the time. Dad is still warming to the idea that Sammy isn't entirely normal, and the fights are getting less. But the lack of social skills, the trusting nature, the obsession with routine and order – they're still there. They aren't going to leave.

I have to look after Sammy. He's my brother, and no matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone tries to do, they can't stop me from doing it.

I don't get any thanks for helping Sam. Dad takes it for granted that I'm the one who deals with Sam when he has tantrums (although they have almost faded). I'm alone in helping Sam, but I don't care. He thanks me in his own way. All it takes is a few hours together, just talking and messing about together. All it takes is a smile, and I know I'm doing the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**I got a lot of people asking for a continuation of this story, so I caved in and wrote another :) I often fight with my brother, and I can actually scream the house down. I have a pretty bad temper, and I did make my brother cry once. I can get really pissed off, and throw things and swear and kick stuff - I probably look pretty scary. Living with an autistic kid can be hard and annoying sometimes, but there are other times when it's all worth it :) Anyway, enjoy this little short story! Read and review :)**

I love Sam. I really do. I love him with everything that I am, and if I could, I'd love him with more. But sometimes, he just really pisses me off.

Like the times I'm working. I'll be working on homework, or helping Dad with some hunting trouble he's got, and Sam will come up and pester me. He'll ask me silly questions about the movie he's just watched. Movies he can probably quote word for word because he's seen them so many times. Sometimes he'll ask me if I want to play with him. He'll ask me if we can play with his dinosaurs, the animals he's obsessed with. He knows everything there is to know about dinosaurs. If you ever need to know something about dinosaurs, Sam's the one to ask. Sometimes he'll ask me to do his chores for him, because he's busy playing or watching something.

Usually I'll just say I'm busy, and I have to finish what I'm doing. He'll nod, and wander off to do his own thing. But sometimes I'm already pissed off. Be it someone at school, the amount of stupid homework I have, or Dad being an idiot again, it doesn't matter. I'll just be angry, maybe even for no good reason. And that's when I yell at him.

I yell really loudly. I can scream the house down when I'm really angry. Dad and I can have arguments that have the neighbours calling the police on us. So when I get angry with Sam, I explode.

One time, I was working on some homework due the next day. Dad wanted me to finish it, because I was already failing most of my subjects, and he didn't want the school getting involved with our lives. So I was working on it, when Sam comes in. He wants me to play with him. I told him I couldn't, that Dad said I had to finish my homework. But Sam was being stubborn and persistent that day, and he kept asking.

Over and over again he asked me to play with him. Every time I told him as calmly as I could that I couldn't because I was busy. Eventually, I couldn't take the incessant questioning anymore. I stood up, throwing my homework on the table and scaring Sam with the noise it made. I glared at him.

"Just fucking leave me alone!" I yelled, curling my hands into fists.

Sam flinched and looked terrified. He backed away from me and into the wall behind him.

"Go away!" I screamed.

Sam sniffed and I was horrified when I realised he was crying. He ran away, slamming the door behind him. I just stood there for a moment, in shock. I couldn't believe what I'd just done. I'd made my little brother so scared he was crying.

I ran from the room to find him. I heard him crying from the kitchen, and I dashed inside. He was leaning against the table leg, knees curled against his chest, crying. I knelt down beside him. He flinched away from me.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm really sorry," I said, reaching out to hug him. He scrambled away from me.

"No!" he yelled, running away from me, out of the kitchen.

I could only stare as he ran away. I knew he would eventually forgive me – he always did – but at that moment I felt so disgusted with myself. I knew he couldn't help it. I knew he didn't understand the same stuff everyone else his age did.

Sometimes that fact really annoys me. Sometimes I'd actually be embarrassed because of him, because he'd said something to one of my few and rare friends that he didn't realise sounded stupid, or weird, or just unable to be understood. I always felt bad about it afterwards, because my friends weren't as important to me as Sammy was. I would always move on, leave those friends behind, make new ones at another school. But Sam was always there, always my responsibility to look after.

Eventually Sam did forgive me. He'd almost totally forgotten about it by the next day. But that didn't stop the guilt I felt for days afterwards. Even now, whenever I get angry at Sam for something that he couldn't help, I feel guilty.

I guess that's never going to go away, but for now, I can try and be calm, and I can try and be the best big brother I can be to Sam. Because no one else can do it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another installment of ADKOD, and more angst, sadness and misunderstanding. This one's focused on Dean and John, and their relationship. This is all Supernatural, no ideas taken from my life. My dad's pretty cool, although we have our arguments. **

I know Dad tries. He really does. He tries to do what's right by me and Sam. He just doesn't know what he's actually doing. He doesn't know that by denying Sam's condition, he's hurting us more than he could ever understand. That by treating him like he treats me, he's not helping anything at all. He just makes everything so much worse.

He does it all the time. When he comes home from a hunt, Sam will come up to him and hug him, ask him where he was. He doesn't know yet, and he never will. I can't put that burden on him when he barely understands how to talk to people. Dad just brushes him off, walks past him. Sam always looks so hurt afterwards. He asked me once if Dad loves him. I had a massive argument with Dad that night.

He doesn't want it to be true. He wanted everything to be as normal as it can get. But he doesn't realize that he can't have that, no matter how much he tries to make it so. He can't keep doing this to Sammy, because he's hurting him so much. Me too. Whenever Dad yells as Sammy for something he couldn't help, whenever he pushes Sam away, it hurts me too. It hurts me to think that Dad can't see what's right in front of his eyes.

I hate the word retard. The last person to call Sam that was nearly in hospital. Except Dad. I can't hit Dad, because he always wins. I'm not strong enough to beat him, and he knows it. He calls Sam a retard when he gets angry and when they have fights. I can't believe he does that. I can't believe that he would hurt Sam like that, or me. Sam doesn't really know what retard means, but I do. And every time Dad says it, it's like he's punching me in the face. But he's so blind to everything that involves Sam that he can't see it.

At first, I put up with it. I yelled at him, sure, but I knew he was trying to get over Mum's death. I knew he was trying to cope, and when everything had to change for us, he couldn't deal with it. He couldn't deal with another problem in the family. But when it didn't stop, I knew Dad just couldn't help himself anymore. It was like a conditioned response. He couldn't get himself out of this hole of verbally abusing Sammy. It was how he dealt with hunting, and Mum's death. But that isn't an excuse anymore. It's been eleven years since she died, and even I've mostly gotten over it. I know it's different for Dad. But that doesn't mean he can yell at Sam and call him names. He can't do that.

One time he told Sam that he was ashamed to have a retarded kid like him. That's when I knew that there was nothing I could do that would help Dad change. If he couldn't help himself, he was never going to get better. He was never going to be able to love Sammy. I'm sure he loves him, but not in the same way he loves me. It's different, because Sam's different.

Dad needs help. Help that I can't give him anymore. He's too far gone in his hole of regret and self-loathing for me to help him. He needs to realise that if he continues on the path he's on now, he's going to lose not one, but both sons.

I love Dad. I love him with everything I am, just like Sammy. But I can't live in the same house as someone who yells at Sam, calls him names and generally can't stand to be around him. If Dad continues to do that, I'm taking Sam. I don't care what the authorities say, or what Dad says. I'll take Sam, and we'll run away to somewhere we're safe. Safe from Dad.

I love Dad, and I love Sam. I don't want to have to choose between the two, but everyday Dad's drifting away from us and forcing my decision. Every day he gets worse, and every day I remind myself that all it takes is one major slip up, and we're gone like the wind. I don't know if Dad would even care if Sam was gone. He'd look for me, for sure, but I don't know if he' be happy Sam was gone. That's how well I know my father now.

I've made my promise. Dad only has to make one more mistake and Sam and I will disappear forever. And he'll have no one to blame but himself.


End file.
